Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

5: Coach Quarrel Donaldson

They departed early the next morning.

When he returned to town, Vincent preferred to travel by stagecoach. Luckily – or otherwise – Thomas had also been able to procure a ticket, and they clambered into the coach shortly after the sun had risen. For the first part of their journey they were the sole passengers, but neither found reason to speak. It had been another restless night for Vincent, as he'd made the mistake of checking on the child, only to be passed the screaming bundle and relegated to the nursery once more.

After an hour or two the coach stopped to collect a middle-aged man, a vicar by the cut of his jacket and the worn bible clutched under one arm, and a young woman they could only presume to be his daughter. She was pretty, if demure, and watched them from under thick lashes when they were all seated within and travelling.

Vincent had brought some documents to revise, scanning them quickly and marking them with pencil as best he could as they bumped and twisted along the road. In the cramped quarters, he felt more than saw Thomas sink back into his seat, his arms folding across his chest as he assessed their companions.

"Are you long for town, sir?" he asked, breaking the silence. Vincent had thought it companiable, but he was the first to admit he was not the best judge. He tried his best to focus on the papers in front of him and not get drawn in by Thomas' boredom-incited chatter.

The vicar tore his attention away from the window and smiled at Thomas, readjusting the Good Book on his lap. "For myself, only a day or two before I must return to my flock, but my daughter Emily will stay on with her aunt, m'lord."

They had not been introduced, but only a fool would mistake Thomas for anything less than a gentleman. Despite the simplicity of his clothing, his coat was of fine material and tailored exquisitely, and as he reclined, he may have been called arrogant if it weren't for the smile on his face. Vincent, distracted despite his best efforts, watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to discern if the smile was polite or genuine.

"Your first time in town, Miss Emily?"

The girl jerked at being spoken to directly, but then nodded so furiously that a few whisps of hair broke free from her tight chignon.

Thomas' eyes crinkled at the edges. "That's very exciting."

It escaped neither mans' notice when the vicar threw out a gentle elbow, nudging his daughter's side.

"Uhh, oh yes, um..." The poor girl took a moment to recover from her father's prodding. "What of yourself, m'lord?"

Ah.

The girl was of marriageable age, and Lord Thomas Thorne was a catch. The vicar, for all he appeared calm and pious, was not going to let this opportunity pass his daughter by.

Whether or not he was aware of that fact, Thomas leant forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I am on a treasure hunt," he said, his whisper conspiratorial.

The statement – misleading, in Vincent's opinion – had what could be assumed to be the desired affect; Emily raised her gloved hands to her mouth, cheeks rosy with surprise, and whispered back to him, "A treasure hunt?"

"Indeed!" He reclined again. "I shall not depart town until I have solved the mystery and found my prize."

Vincent let out a huffed laugh under his breath, immediately regretting it as the attention of the coach turned to him. Emily was still in awe, her wide eyes now pinned on him, and the vicar looked somewhat put out by the distraction. Thomas just smirked at him.

The vicar shifted in his seat. "And you, sir? Are you to stay long in town..." he hesitated for one palpable moment, his eyes scanning Vincent's hair, face, clothes and papers. "... m'lord?" The question was just as much over his title as it was his time in town.